Beauty From Pain
by Lunamaria
Summary: There are two sides to every death in these three acts.


**beauty from pain  
**this is your story, so it all depends.  
kairi _orette_ selphie

**KAIRI **×

You're an accident waiting to happen,

It's amazing what time had in store, and how insane it made her when she got that phone call and when the storm that had been looming on the horizon for days, shifted her into reality. It's amazing how one phone call with not-so-casual words like "Sorry, but he's dead" can take a life she had thought was pretty close to perfect and smash it into tiny little fragments until _some assembly required_ was a hyperbole. It's amazing how cruel time was.

When she drove by all by herself with no one in the passenger seat, she never thought that the _cross on the side of the road_ would have belonged to her husband. Her angry, aquatic eyes were hot with tears and her mind burned with questions and why, why, why fate had to be so cruel to her.

If his death was something inevitable, why at least, were there no warning signs along the way? If only she had a little more time, she argued to the dormant girl – Naminé – from years ago that was in her own body.

_How could she know that the morning he left would be their last time she'd trade with him for a little more time?_ She could say, "I love you" one last time, and hold him tight. Only, with things like time and fate and heaven and life, life and death were thrown out in sporadic dividends.

She was so angry at time and fate and life and death, in that moment, and many to follow. She was also angry with herself for wishing to herself that maybe Riku should've die, or Selphie, or Wakka, or Tidus or anyone else as long as it wasn't Sora. What right did anyone have over him; after all he had done for their world and every other world out there?

By what right did her child, still within her, not deserve to have a father? Where were the faith and the truth and the love and the justice and all those other things now?

The things she wished she could say when she stood dropping salty tears and curses to time looking over his casket just couldn't come out. Kairi looked at Sora's face for the last time. It just couldn't digest; he was gone, he was dead, _goodbye_. She pulled a forced smile on, and rubbed gently over the black fabric on her stomach, and pushed herself from the casket.

Her best friend Selphie who was always bright, tried her best to cease crying, and grabbed the red head by the shoulders and did her best to console the girl of her loss. The hugs and the crying and those people who should've been the dead ones (And not Sora) were testing her last patience. What right did they have to be there?

Kairi angrily growled out, "_It wasn't supposed to be like this_."

Selphie tried her best, and blocked her own cries, timidly running her thumb over Kairi's back. Selphie only whispered, hugging Kairi, as best she could. Selphie tried to be the best friend she was, despite her own crying and despair, having lost one of her best friends, "_But with life, we _**never know**, _when we're coming up the end of the road_."

The sun peeked over the mountaintop; Kairi, it's another day.

Kairi only wished it wasn't true, sitting down, clutching flowers, onto the stone, among hundreds of stones. This particular one reading; "Sora,"

"Loving friend, and husband."

No, never a _loving father_, she mused, and caressed over her stomach, which had gone from noticeable to gigantic in five short months.

It was another cold, gray, somber day.

Somewhere, through the mesh of ugly, neutral colors she saw a goofy smile and impossible chestnut hair, and it made her face light up for a bit. She knew that living was the only option. For herself, for Sora, and most importantly, her child.

"_And today we remember to live and to love_."

Naminé thought that was awfully grown-up of Kairi.

**ORETTE **×

You're selfish, you say, but then if _I'm selfish  
_who are you thinking of? 

She always had large, curious eyes that held such a vibrancy life. But now, he thought, they were unreadable as she tucked them beneath her uneven bangs, but when he did see them it was easy to tell the dullness in them. _The weather outside was storming_ – in sync it seemed – with her bustling emotions; pouring over her like a somber, warm liquid. She gently rested both hands over her face, and gradually her shoulders began to shudder. She choked softly on sobs trapped in the mid of her throat – she was crying.

He was a boy with unruly, unique golden hair, spiking into waves into the ocean – as the color of his eyes. He spooned his arm loosely around her figure, grimacing at what little of weight there was to grasp – was _it_ already taking it's tole? No, he told himself. No. He remembered lightly the days the two were friends. That was when the ridiculous phrase – more than friends, less than lovers – was very true. They had long parted ways though, and here they were now, under alarming circumstances.

Pulled from his dream, Orette mumbled something about his wife and if she would was worrying about him, because he was here with her and not his wife. He nodded to her, and he truthfully stated he didn't care and Orette was his most important person. Naminé would have to wait.

Orette felt the regret gathering over her heart, and it brought her back the realization that she wasted so many years of her life. She pushed her bangs aside, damp from the tears. She surveyed him, and gave a timid, weak smile.

"I haven't seen you in eleven years, Roxas."

He nodded. As if he didn't know! He could tell her the number of days, and if he thought hard enough, the very number of hours since they'd parted. But, that didn't matter now. Did it? He didn't think so. Orette hadn't, until now, realized just how much she needed him. He hadn't lost his essence like she had, she noticed.

She regretted _everything_ now.

Once again, guilt lumped her throat, because here Roxas was with his arm assuringly around her when he had a wife. Orette was sure that his wife appreciated him so much more than she had the past eleven years, when she had taken him for granted. Naminé deserved him so much more.

Roxas, knowing her better than _anyone_, sensed her discomfort. He pulled her head beneath his chin, and stroked the back of her neck with his thumb gently.

"I'm so sorry, Roxas." Her whisper was barely audible – pathetic really.

"It was all my fault. If I would have just listened, we would have…" She stopped herself from both bringing up the past, and bringing up anything about their relationship that might-have-been. Who was she to say things like that? He was married.

He looked at her, and apathetically told her, "Shut up."

"What makes you think, argument or no, that I wouldn't drop everything to come be with you? Especially _now_—" Roxas didn't have the time to finished, or will, to finish. The only door in the spacious, bare room swung open slowly.

A man came through.

"_Doctor_," Roxas said hoarsely, crushing Orette's hand in his.

The doctor, a thin man holding files, barely made eye contact with Roxas and Orette. Finally, when Roxas and doctor's eyes met, Roxas froze. The man looked sincerely upset, somber, and looked at the floor for some time, before putting the file down on the table. He shook his head apologetically, and spare explaining the results – they needed time.

"I'll give you two some time."

Roxas and Orette, there to see if _the cancer had spread yet_, and their unanswered answer. Orette understood the same as Roxas when she'd seen the doctor. Roxas hid under some of his sloping spikes, beginning to shake and shudder with tears, when Orette looked out the window, at the storming weather.

"_So why did I wait to live till it was time to die_?" She said, calmly. This shook Roxas into reality.

She pulled her hand from Roxas' tight grip, going over to shift through the files. Nothing she read among the pile really shocked her, and oddly, she felt calm. Serene, really. Roxas beckoned her, rubbing his eyes.

She felt the need to tell him, "Terminal."

It little surprised him as well, something he hated. He stood – cordially, almost uncomfortably looking.

"I'll stay with you, until…" He couldn't bear to say it. She nodded her head.

Her shoulders trembled again, as she slowly made her way back into the warmth and comfort of his arms. She only whispered one thing into his honey hair.

"If I could have the time back, oh, how I'd live." _Each day is a gift somehow, someway. _

She's got bright green eyes and believes in fate, and she's got a heart of gold –

"Life is such a gift."

And lived a little too late.

**SELPHIE **×

  
It's a lot more than a little insane,

"Are you okay, Selph?" They question her, quite frequently she notes, as if it's become a compulsory task – somewhat of a second nature, she thinks. As usual, she turns her head to them, lifts an eyebrow, turns her lip down, sighs, then smiles and nods. It's quite remarkable, she thinks, how they baby her. They act as if she's got a big "handle with care" sticker slapped across her forehead, giving her a dumb sort-of look, causing her to often wonder if she does, making things all the more absurd. But, she's Selphie, so she's _got_ to smile and chuckle, telling them she's _perfectly fine_, because she's not allowed to do anything else – she's _Selphie_. They fancy her some sort of parade of sunshine, and even being such, she's not allowed to be un-okay.

She's not crazy anymore.

She's secretly angry with them all, because not one of them came on a frequent basis to visit her, behind that wall of crystal. They were all frightened of her, and why shouldn't they be, she was crazy after all. They just don't realize, she muses – they acted, and to some extent still do, like she was some contagious epidemic, like if they touched her they'd get it too, because she inadvertently murdered someone. But, hey, she doesn't remember!

So, it's okay now.

She's not crazy anymore, right? She really never was in the first place.

"I'm great, Kairi!" She lies.

Tidus has become quite the timid subject, something disgusting almost; everyone tiptoes around it so they won't dirty their toes. Sure, she killed him, but hey, she can't remember – right?

They made her 'crazy', she thinks. If they didn't expect so much from her, she could have cried and things could have gotten better. But, it was the first time she ever truly cried. So something was wrong with that, wasn't it? When she dug her fingers into her hair and called out his name, she was crazy, that made her crazy, didn't it?

But, they were really afraid that they were next, weren't they? They were frightened that sweet Selphie Tilmitt would play with them and drown them to – on accident – didn't they? They still do, probably.

The fact that she loved Tidus doesn't seem to matter to them.

So, on the occasions when Tidus does sneak his way into their rehearsed conversations, Selphie has to smile and say, "Who's Tidus, guys?" as if she doesn't know. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. But, she just can't tell them that. Not unless she wants back into that hospital, behind that glass again, does she?

Oh, and it's funny to see what they do when they run into the lady – the one who monitored young lunatic Selphie behind the glass. She's a very tidy woman, Selphie observes. Too tidy, and a little speculative. She smiles to the group of friends, especially towards Selphie, and unfolds her glasses.

The cleanliness of this woman begins to bug Selphie, but she smiles, making idle chat with the woman, until she asks,

"Selphie, do you remember?"

She does the same again. She turns her head to them, lifts an eyebrow, turns her lip down, sighs, smiles and giggles out,

"Remember what?"

She's quite tired of holding the lump in her throat, and burning the tears from her eyes.

Selphie thinks her life will always be like this.

- -- - -

dedicated to _suki_.

disclaimer; standard disclaimer applies.  
lyrics © superchic. italisized.

¤ _composed by lunamaria_.


End file.
